


Take A Slice

by nomisupernova



Series: The Lost Files - Abandoned Fics [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Camping, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, For My Moirail, Gift Fic, I may finish this later, Jam Fic, Light Bondage, M/M, Prompt Fic, Trans Dirk Strider, my first work for this pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 03:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16568954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomisupernova/pseuds/nomisupernova
Summary: He'll complain about your habit, but you've managed to keep it contained to only after sex, which is to say, you smoke at least twice daily. But it's been a while, he's been busy with work, and he’s too exhausted to keep up with you at the end of the day. This trip was just what the two of you needed to spend some actual fucking quality time together. And somefucking-time together.





	Take A Slice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awkwardFawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardFawn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [chamomile, rose water, and other unlikely intoxicants](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10935246) by [callmearcturus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus). 



> This fic takes its name from the song _Take A Slice_ by Glass Animals which you can listen to [here.](https://open.spotify.com/track/37adYGaYaAWTGhBaOzX4Fh?si=_WsAOWdrRSWWkEUnF9tRlw)
> 
> Yes it's true, this is unfinished. But I worked extremely hard on the editing for months so have this anyway. This work was written for my friend, Miles, who gave me the prompt for this fic. He's a blessing and I'm glad he jumpstarted my DirkJake writing. <>
> 
> You can go read his works [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardFawn) since he's a wonderful writer and deserves to have his work read by more people. After this fic, feel free to hop on over to his page.

"Jake, there's...  _ ugh _ there's no service here." You complain openly, tightening your legs around the tree you've climbed in a desperate bid to get  _ some _ kind of service to your phone. But that’d be too easy and your life is nothing if not stupidly fucking complicated. "This trip was a mistake, you know how Dave worries when he doesn't hear from me or Rose."

You turn your head and spot your boyfriend, Jake English, shielding his eyes from the sun and looking over at you, smile beaming on his face as per usual. Your heart flutters, it's still amazing that he looks at  _ you _ like that. "Oh don't you fret over that, my peach. David is well aware that we're out in the boonies, so to speak, he'll worry not, I'm sure."

"Jake, I don't think you understand how Dave works. Once he gets an idea of what  _ might have happened _ in his head, he fuckin' spirals into that shit. A real staircase of bad shit." You roll your eyes and stuff your phone into your pocket, buttoning it so that way you don't drop it.

"And I suppose the next thing you'll say is something along the lines of, and shall I quote?" He pauses, you nod, he smiles ever so slightly, "’Oh fuck, I'm falling down all of these stairs?’ of worry or something else of the sort?"

You suck in a breath between your teeth, he's so...  _ Jake _ about things. But then again, nobody can do Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff quotes justice quite like Dave, so it'd sound terribly awkward coming out of anybody's mouth but the author himself. Which… honestly isn’t saying a lot, but hey, it’s Dave so he can do whatever and you’ll still think the sun shines out of every pore of his skin.

"You're, uh... trying, I'll give you that." You gesture vaguely in his direction, "Don't let me fuckin' fall and break my neck coming down this tree."

"Wouldn't dream of it, love. I've got you."

He sounds so fucking  _ sincere _ about it and you're annoyed at how it makes your stomach feel like it's floating and your brain kicks in with that sweet, sweet dopamine. He's just promising to catch you if you fall, he's not fucking proposing to you! Relax, Dirk. Fucking.  _ Relax. _

"Well come now, I'm not going to wait all day for you. I've got a tent to pitch here." He gestures at the tent roll, walks closer, and plants his feet down firmly, as though he's going to jump straight up the tree and grab you up and bring you down. It's too bad he can't jump that high, you'd love that. Not that you'd ever  _ admit _ to wanting to submit so easily but... Jake makes you  _ want to. _ But he's also left a  _ lovely _ opening for some of your patented Smooth Talk™ and you're going to take it.

"That the only tent you're looking to pitch tonight?" You smirk a little and watch his face go from vaguely blank and slightly cheery to straight-laced, no bullshit, “Is  _ that _ how it’s going to be?” It is always lovely to watch that change.

"Perhaps it'd be in my best interest to hurry it along so I can pitch twice in a night then?" He drops his voice just a touch and a shiver creeps up your spine.  _ Nice. _ You  _ live _ for that feeling.

"Exactly." You respond, a bit proudly, giving him a little half-hearted wink and sticking your feet down the next branch, you're only about half a foot above his head now. "Now grab me and carry me down, I'm out of branches."

He huffs, vaguely annoyed but you know he seriously doesn't care. It's all a show as far as you're concerned, he'd never say no to getting his hands all over you. Hell, you have to practically  _ pry _ his hands off of you post-coitus so that you can have your cigarette outside on the fire escape. He'll complain about your habit, but you've managed to keep it contained to only after sex, which is to say, you smoke at least twice daily. But it's been a while, he's been busy with work, and he’s too exhausted to keep up with you at the end of the day. This trip was just what the two of you needed to spend some actual fucking quality time together. And some _ fucking _ -time together.

He grabs your hips first, supporting your weight while you dig your thankfully short nails into the softer and mossier parts of the bark. You’re really only hanging on so that you don't overwhelm him with your body-weight all at once. But it's fine, he's  _ very _ strong, so you're not all that worried about it. You're just being overly kind at this point, something that very few people could accuse you of. But alas, this is one of those “Just for you, Jake” kinds of things. In your opinion, everyone is hostile and not to be trusted until they prove themselves. Sorry, not sorry.

"Well let go already, you ninny." He pulls you back slightly, and you yelp a little at the loss of grip, stumbling slightly and, as you predicted, he catches you with grace. It's such a short amount of time between feeling unsafe and like you're falling and being cradled in his strong arms and big hands that if you’d blinked, you’d have missed it. Thankfully, he doesn't call you out for that idiotic noise that spilled from between your lips, instead, he just holds you tighter, easing you down onto the soft, slightly damp forest floor.

"Gimme a fuckin' warning next time, won't you?" You say to Jake who returns your complaint with a listless shrug. 

You pointedly ignore the heat dusted across your cheekbones and give him an annoyed sigh instead. Dusting your hands off on your jeans, you tilt your head back and take a look at the sun just over the horizon. Thankfully, you can get a good look at the sun beginning to set lazily at the end of the forest thanks to your shades. Although you think Dave would still prefer you to wear "normal dude shades," as he says, you absolutely lean more toward the pointy pair you've always had.

"Stop spacing out and help me before I give you a walloping, Strider." Jake slaps your back slightly, and you snap back into focus. "If I have to set this all up on my own, I'm going to really give it to you. And  _ not _ in a way that you'd take any sort of liking to, my little chickpea."

You squint your eyes at him and chew at the inside of your lip, you  _ know _ that if you honor that with a response he'll just tear whatever it is you say to pieces, so you don't even bother at this point. You're not about to give him ammo so easily, he's got to work for it as far as you're concerned. Besides, what's the point of banter if you're the one taking all the steps to make it happen? There isn't one, that's what. Instead of staying wrapped up in your own train of thought though, you heave a sigh and relax your shoulders, walk over to him, and lend him a hand with the tent.

It doesn't take  _ terribly _ long to set up, but it does take  _ some _ time and, by the time you're done with the tent proper, clouds have rolled in from the east, and they look... not so great for camping. Jake notices too because you hear him click his tongue and make a worried noise in the back of his throat.

"Well that's just a rotten bit of luck, ain’t it? 'Course it'd heat-rain." He walks back toward the bunched up bag that held the tent earlier and pulls out a few big tarps and a bundle of rope. Your skin instinctively shudders at the sight of it, it's  _ really _ lovely rope, cotton it seems. Good for tying things down and together, like tents, furniture, people, you. Whatever works. You make a noise at the back of your throat, and Jake notices obviously and turns to look at you.

"Goodness me, I haven't even touched you with it yet and you're this impassioned?" He smirks at you, thick upper lip curling into a condescending smile. It fills you with a mixture of gentle rage and thrill, you've been told this feeling is akin to what trolls call "black-rom," but you're not too sure about that. That’d require some form of hate… right? And you don’t hate Jake, in fact, you admire him and respect him.

"Even if I am, what of it? It's not like you're any better than me." You cut back and his eyes light up, spurred on by your words.

"Never claimed to be something I don't rightfully think I'm owed to be or be called." Jake steps closer to you, and you step closer to him. Meeting each other halfway, his hand reaches out to curl around the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. "But I do, however, think I know what I am to you. And that just so happens to be that dirty little word that you toss around when I'm getting you real good, isn't that right, pretty boy?"

"That- That didn't happen!" Your whole body runs cold, how  _ dare _ he! It was  _ one time! _ You feel your face flush, and your hands rise to cover your face, but he closes in on you faster than you can hide away in the safety of yourself.

_ "Oh, Dirk." _ He coos at you, making your knees go weak, or at the very least, it makes you weak enough for his lips to press into yours and silence your oncoming tantrum. At least, that's what Rose calls them, you think they're fucking  _ justified anger _ thank you  _ very _ much. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you pull him up slightly, he  _ is _ shorter than you after all. Not by much, but enough that you have to sometimes give him a tug upward or lower yourself to kiss him properly.

His lips are so  _ nice _ against yours that you don't want to stop, but you're quickly stopped by a raindrop falling onto your face and it drags your carefully done eyeshadow with it. You make an irritated noise and pull back, looking at Jake's kiss-drunk face and you just have the vaguest of feelings that your face looks the same.

"The uh..." Your voice cracks slightly, and you clear your throat and start again, "The tent. We should put the tarp up. It's raining."

He gives you a wink, "Fret not, I've got it, head in and get that lovely face of yours all cleaned up, won't you, chickpea? Don't want to make a mess of you unless that's what I'm trying to do and we're not quite there yet."

You don't really have a response to that except for the bothersome pool of warmth forming in your hips and a needy whine in your throat which he seems to take  _ great _ pleasure in drawing out of you, what with the dreamy sigh he lets out as an answer to that.  _ God _ , you're such a fucking mess.

* * *

 

You walk over to the rolls of bedding and equipment and start moving it into the tent. Or at least, you move the things that you don't want to get wet. These items include the following: your clothes, Jake's clothes, your makeup bag, your binder (which you meticulously folded and packed safely in its own bag), the bed rolls, your pillows, and your cigarettes, your lighter, your phones, and Jake's backpack.

After making sure you didn't forget anything that you can't afford to lose (Sorry Jake, but hiking boots can stay  _ outside _ since they're covered in mud anyway), you set up the bedding. It's not that hard; tarp down, flat futon mattress, blanket down, pillows, then another blanket on top of all of that. It's pretty simple and doesn't  _ totally _ suck to sleep on. You'd prefer to be in your squishy king-sized bed at home, but for Jake, you'll do this.

It also doesn't hurt that you can do pretty much whatever you want out here, fuck anywhere you want, and hell, you can finally please that little part of Jake that wants you to "Open your blasted fucking mouth and make some noise for me, lovely," as he'd say. You don't have to feel nearly as self-conscious about the noises that  _ oh so badly _ want to fucking  _ escape _ from you, but you get too embarrassed to let out for fear that someone will hear you. 

It's not  _ your _ fault that Jake's dick is fucking divine and makes you want to moan like you're getting triple-stuffed by a bunch of muscly twinks at a kink club. Right. Okay.  _ That _ is...  _ a thought. _ You're... not going to entertain that any further right now, it's best to focus on getting this damn makeup off of your face before it sets into your pores too much and ruins the soft, smooth complexion you work so fuckin' hard to maintain.

You set out your makeup bag, taking out the little hand-mirror that you keep and setting it a good distance from yourself and begin the annoyingly meticulous process of removing it. It's not  _ that _ hard, it's just that you give a shit how you look, so you do a lot of moisturizing, and you even make attempts not to smile too much (those wrinkles are  _ not _ worth it when you can just  _ say _ that you like something instead of smiling like some kind of idiot) to keep your skin perfect.

The rain patters lightly against the tent, and you take a look outside of the transparent plasticky window and tilt your head, watching Jake's muscles work and flex as he ties down all of your equipment, throwing a tarp over all of it and then pulls the ropes as tight as they’ll go, tying them to a nearby tree for anchoring. It’s ridiculously hot to watch him working. Imagining those muscled arms holding you down and making you beg him to cum is…  _ a lot. _ And it’s all too fucking easy. You shift a little and huff, what a dick. How  _ dare _ he do this when he hasn’t even fucking  _ touched you? _ It’s unfair, it’s cruel, it’s exactly what you love.

* * *

 

You dampen a tissue in makeup remover and first start at your eyes, it's easiest to start with the thickest part first. Perfectly placed smoky eyes are great for highlighting how bright your eyes are, but unfortunately, they have to come off at the end of the day just as all things do. You wipe carefully, being sure not to tug your eyes too much, you know better than to pull at your skin and just because you're a God by all intents and purposes doesn't mean that your skin will hold up forever. Immortal body? Yes. Immortal skin?  _ Maybe. _ And because you're unsure, you'd rather not test the theory by destroying your favorite parts of yourself by being a bumbling idiot.

After wiping away the makeup on your eyes, you grab a fresh tissue and do a once-over for your skin as well. True, you don't  _ need _ too much foundation, but those goddamn dark circles aren't sexy to anyone, including you, and you want to look good to yourself at least. ...It would  _ probably _ help if you slept better and remembered to drink water instead of subsisting semi-purely on coffee and energy drinks but hey, we can't all be winners. You're allowing yourself to have this  _ one _ flaw because... well... coffee is too fucking good to let go of.

You check your reflection again and roll your eyes, of course. You forgot to take off your eyeliner, wipe off your eyebrows, and take your earrings out. Well that'd be annoying to fall asleep in. At the  _ very _ least you can take out the earrings so you don't stab the sides of your head with them while you sleep. And the eyeliner and eyebrows are only a few cotton swap swipes away so you get that done nice and easy. The eyebrows take a tiiiny bit more time (only because of how darkly you draw them on) but you get through it and don't look like a total zombie by the end with grey streaks across your brows. 

Earrings are easy enough, you wear three different kinds, so you have to make sure you get them out without dropping them and losing them in the middle of nowhere. Your ear plugs come first since they're the biggest and the hardest to lose, 6g isn't the biggest out there but you're working your way up to a 0g slowly. You really don't want to tear your earlobes and ruin them forever. Plus these pretty black heart-shaped plugs are really nice, they were a gift from Dave, and you don’t want to lose these. 

Next is the industrial bar on your left ear. Your fingers fumble slightly and you nearly drop the carnelian ball on the top end of it but you're quick enough to catch it before it rolls away. You sigh, fuckin' hell you're such a clumsy idiot when you're trying to be careful but when you couldn't give less of a shit, you can’t seem to loosen up on your own command, that’s… annoying. Whatever.

Last is the wing-shaped cuff on your right ear, it’s actually really elaborate, a gift from Jake, he wears a necklace that matches it in design and it’s a bit like his way of saying “I’m always with you” while also being not too unalike his godtier symbol. It’s like you’re carrying a little piece of him with you as long as you’re wearing it. You’re… a little attached to this one and so you take really good care of it. It’s kind of big, so it’s hard to lose, but you don’t want to scrape at the gold on it, so you always wrap it in a soft cotton cloth before you pack it away in your jewelry box. Unfortunately, you only have your makeup bag with you, but you do manage to get all of your jewelry into a plastic bag (cuff wrapped in the cotton cloth you tucked away with you) and you zip it all shut, packing your entire makeup bag away in Jake’s backpack for safe keeping.

The rain gets louder, and you hear Jake yelp and swear, "Fuckin' hell, you loathsome thing, won't you stay where I gosh darn tied you? I'm this close to giving up and letting you flit about in the storm!"

"What are you hollering about this time?" You speak loudly, but not quite yell as you undress yourself in the last bits of daylight that linger in the sky. The clouds are so goddamn thick at this point that, even though the sun hasn't set quite yet, it's dark as twilight in here.

"This confounded car tarp won't stay in place, and I'm gonna lose my marbles if rain gets all over this car." You hear him huff loudly from all the way in here, he's  _ really _ worked up about it. Oh god, why is that so hot?  _ Why? _ You don't understand your brain sometimes. "It's a rental and I have to pay for damages, and of course those asinine rental places consider a spot of rain to be damage. On what fucking planet is rain considered damaging!? It's ridiculous, it's- it's poppycock!"

"Oh, it's  _ poppycock, is it now?" _ You tease and hear him make an irritated noise, you recognize that one as the noise he makes when you pick on his diction. "Do tell."

"You'd best shove that savoir-faire of yours where the sun don't shine, chickadee. I won't be hearing that kind of braggadocio out of that lovely yap you've got there." He walks toward the false-window on the tent and leans in closer, you turn your head toward it, assuming he has something he wants to say (and you have no qualms about hearing it.)

"The only noises I want to spill from those lips are cries of bliss, my name, and possibly that one little word. Which one was it again?" He pauses, and your face immediately floods with heat. 

_ That fucker. _ He's not going to let you get away with not saying it. You want to ignore him and pretend he didn't say anything, but then he'll make your punishment worse, and you're going to actually die if you have to wait longer than you need to for whatever he wants to give you. So, instead of fighting it any further, you swallow your bravado (and possibly your fucking tongue) and give him exactly what he wants.

"Go on, then." He goads you on, possibly to ensure you didn't forget or aren't ignoring him, "What was it, Dirk? I do believe it started with a D, if I recall correctly?" You bite your lip so hard you swear that your teeth damn near go through it, but you do eventually speak up.

“...dy,” you mumble under your breath and try to dig yourself a hole to hide in within your brain but you can’t. How unfortunate.

“Didn’t quite catch that, pet. Once more?”

“Daddy.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, you don’t even have to turn around to see it, “That’s right, thank you. You’re a very good boy, quite a pretty little thing too.”

Ugh,  _ why _ does he always get to you like this? It’s  _ damn annoying _ but you’d be a dirty fucking liar if you said you didn’t like it.

* * *

 

"Now then... Let me finish tying this tarp down, and I'll be in to help you out. Be patient for me, won't you, my little cherub?" He says, as if you have any chance of ever saying no. Of fucking course you'll wait for him. You make a noise of affirmation and he hums happily to himself, it’s a song you're not  _ quite _ sure of, but it’s on the tip of your tongue. It's fine, you'll figure it out  _ later. _ You have to get these stupid clothes off.

You start with your shirt, it's easier to move around like crazy if you have your binder off first. And, now that you're thinking about it, you  _ probably _ should have just not worn your binder at all today. But whatever, you wanted to be flat so you wore it anyway. Besides, you wore the one that was a bit too big, so it's fine. Your chest isn't all that big anyway but you still don't  _ like _ to feel it moving around unless you're getting overwhelmed with another feeling(like Jake's big hands all over you, grabbing you wherever he wants to.) In that case, you can at least ignore it and you don't mind it all that much.

You slide your binder up,  _ thankfully _ you're wearing your half-tank instead of your full-tank so you don't have to deal with it being all gross and sticking to you because of how disgustingly humid it was today. You pull it over your head and cross your arms above your head, take a deep breath, and stretch your arms upwards. Nobody can ever accuse you of not taking care of your lungs at the very least (well they  _ can, _ but only if they know that you smoke. And almost nobody knows that except for Jake.) 

"Don't forget to stretch your sides too, chickadee." Jake chimes in as you let out your breath, it's sweet that he cares. You love that he's just as concerned with your physical health as you are. 

"Don't worry, I will." You answer back as you wrap your hand around your right elbow and bend to the side slightly until you feel the muscles in your sides flex and bend. You pull until you can't anymore, and then you stand back up straight and repeat the process with the left side too. Then you lace your fingers together behind your back and pull upward until your shoulder blades flex and pull together. 

It's methodical, and it's always the same; right arm, left arm, shoulder blades back, spine forward until you touch your toes, a few deep breaths while you're bent over and then you stand up straight, reaching for the sky and you're all done.

It's nice, and it helps you relax after a long day of doing whatever it is you’re up to. Usually that entails building robots, working on Sawtooth and Squarewave. Sometimes it’s organizing your tools, walking to Dave’s to watch movies, or just hanging out on the beach with your toes in the sand and the ocean mist on your skin. Beach days are the best, you  _ adore _ the ocean. 

You love how powerful it is, the ocean. It seems so calm and caring until you step inside of it, then it proves just how uncaring and dangerous it is. Only trained professionals should be trying to handle it’s depths, not that they can. It’s more like they just better know how to deal with its chaos. Or idiots, only idiots mess with the ocean and expect to come out okay. 

You like to think that you’re a bit like an ocean, in your own way. Sure, you appear calm on the surface, but the moment someone gets in too deep, they realize just how turbulent and disastrous you are. But the good thing about oceans is that, even if they pull you under and terrify you, you’ll never get physically hurt like you would if you fell off a tall cliff with no railing. You’ll just be terrified for a while until you’re smart enough to escape, since the ocean can’t really just get someone  _ out of it _ other than to thrash them about and wait for them to think up a way out. So, at the very least, you can’t really physically harm anyone, but you can (and  _ have _ ) emotionally destroyed them.

Where were you? Right. Right… you were getting undressed. You always get wrapped up in your thoughts and aimlessly ramble in your mind. It’s bothersome for when you’re trying to stay focused on one thing. Oh well. At least you don’t forget too easily, and you always end up getting something done, it just takes some time, but you  _ always _ get it done. Besides, you can’t  _ not _ get undressed. Jake would have your head for taking so long only to not finish at all, and then he’d have to… undress you himself…  _ oh. _ Well. As nice as that sounds, he’s a lot less gentle and methodical than you are, and you  _ like _ this way better. You like taking your sweet time being alone for a while, it’s a good way to destress after a long day of socializing. 

So you finish up, removing your shoes (a nice pair of Converse hiking boots, not the prettiest shoes in the world but they’re your favorite brand, and they’re good for what you’ve been up to today) and then your socks afterward. You tilt your head to the side and pull, cracking your spine there, and sigh in relief. Ughh, that’s been bugging you all day. You’ll have to ask Jake to get at your spine for you before he does whatever it is he is planning. Because you’re not very fun or enthusiastic when you’re all tense. 

Next comes your jeans, skinny jeans, of course. Because you just love the fit, they’re comfortable, you don’t care what anyone says. Skinny jeans are perfectly comfortable as long as you’re wearing the  _ correct fucking size. _ After that you open up Jake’s big backpack and pull out one of his button-downs. You usually wear one for bed, since they’re large enough to cover your body. Though he is shorter, he’s pretty bulky, so he has to buy ones that are big enough to cover his muscles properly. 

This one is maroon, the same colour as your godtier clothes. You like that he’s been wearing your colours more often. You’ve been seeing lots of maroons, oranges, and purples in his wardrobe, and it makes you smile. You’ve also notice that you’re wearing more green, but you adamantly refuse to wear yellow, Hope-ways or Prospit-ways. It’s just… a displeasing colour on your skin and with your hair. No thanks. You’re just fine with wearing what you’ve always worn.

* * *

 

“My  _ my, _ you’re a lovely sight for sore eyes, aren’t you?” Jake’s voice calls out to you, and you turn your head toward him. Your shirt is still half-buttoned, and you panic slightly. You  _ don’t _ really like people looking at your chest, it makes you feel… weird.

You don’t even let Jake look, it’s just a comfort thing. So, you hurriedly finish up and turn around to get a look at him.

Jake is absolutely  _ soaked _ in rainwater, and you furrow your brow at him, pinching at the skin there, you sigh. “Jake, I’m not letting you in here to soak the blankets.” You dig around in his bag a bit and grab the big towel that you insisted on packing. You bunch it up and toss it over to him, “Here. Go dry off.”

“Goodness, I see how it is, chickadee. Right then, just a moment.” You watch him smile and run the towel through his slightly dripping hair, taking the moisture that gathered at the sides of his head. “A bit of rain nev-”

“Yes I know, but I  _ do not _ want to sleep on a wet bed.” You interrupt before he can insist that it’s fine. It’s  _ not _ fine, you  _ really _ don’t like it being all  _ wet _ and gross. Rain is just fine as long as it’s not all over the warm blankets you plan on sleeping in. No thanks.

You huff and run your hand through your hair, glad that you didn’t bother putting in your usual amount of hair gel. You only did a once over with some “all natural hairspray” stuff that Rose gave to you when she heard that you’d be camping. “It’s easy to remove with just your fingers and a damp towel,” she said, as if that’s… Oh, well. You  _ guess _ you have a damp towel now.

“Hey, lemme see that when you’re all done,” you say to Jake and he nods, toweling off his arms.

“Sure thing, just- hold this for me while I get out of this waterlogged garb of mine?” He holds out the towel and you pad across the tent to take it. He places it in your hand and you hold onto it, watching him as he quickly unbuttons the damp shirt clinging  _ deliciously _ close to his skin. Jake slides it off and stretches his arms upward. He then turns toward you and smiles sheepishly.

“Don’t suppose you’d fret over using a length of that rope I brought to hand these to dry?” 

“Hmmm…” You hum a bit dramatically, making it seem like you’re thinking a lot harder than you really are. “I don’t know. I  _ suppose _ I can make an excuse for it, but you’ll owe me one.”

“Oh dear, and after I made  _ all of this effort _ to ensure that I never owe you a gosh darned thing. What’ll I ever do now that I owe the lovely Dirk Strider a favour? I do suppose I have no choice but to lay down and make peace with the worms.”

“How dramatic. Wanting to  _ die _ because you  _ owe me a favour?” _ You scoff and train your face to not smile at his absolutely ridiculous demeanor. He’s even clutching at his chest dramatically, it’s charming.

“No, you’re right. I must go on in this world.” He uses his empty hand to wrap around the back of your neck and tug you in for a kiss, which you  _ gladly _ oblige. “Besides, I fancy that I’d miss this too much. No golden gates for me, not when I want to be the one canoodling around with you.”

“You know, if that didn’t sound so laughable, I’d be charmed by you, I’m  _ sure.” _ You sass him just a bit, knowing that he thinks it’s hilarious when you’re being slightly rude like this.

“Oh, worry not, I’m charmed plenty for the both of us.” He dips you back slightly and kisses you again, more deeply this time. You  _ love _ joking around with him like this. The back and forth is fun, easy, and best of all, relaxing. 

Unfortunately, you get so enthralled with kissing him that you nearly forget he’s soaked until his damp hair is wrapped around your long, delicate fingers.  _ Ick. _ You pull back quickly and say as much and he looks astonished for a moment before making a soft  _ “Oh” _ sound and gets back to drying himself.

“You’re quite distracting, you know that?” he comments, his lips curled into a sly smile as he takes the towel back from your palm and hands you the wet shirt he was wearing.

“I’ve… been told as much. By  _ multiple _ people,” you insist  _ despite _ knowing that, in the way  _ he _ means it, it’s a bit of a lie.

“Oh, is that so?” You open up the tent flap and listen to him talk while you squeeze rainwater out of the shirt, “I was out there gettin’ soaked to my bones ‘cuz I was so busy watchin’ you. You’re quite the show to see. That darned tarp wouldn’t stay down and I caught a glimpse of you and… well. Suffice to say, you had me standing out there in that squall for half an hour before I realized I could finish up and come  _ in _ to watch you.”

You feel your face heat up, and you squash that down. No no no-- well okay  _ yes _ that’s cute, but no, you should admonish that kind of behaviour. You do  _ not _ need one of you to get sick or something from standing around in this weather. “That’s…  _ flattering _ but don’t stand in the rain. I don’t want to go home early because you’re sick.”

He sighs, “You’re right, love. Sorry ‘bout that. I’ll be more careful about it next time. I swear by you.” He slides his sandals off and sets them outside on the grass that’s still close enough to the tent to be shielded from the downpour. “As lovely as it is for you to stand around in my shirt, watchin’ me like that, it’d be capital if you could grab that rope and my knife, just there. Cut me a length about… hmm, ten feet? Ah, yes, should be plenty to work with and hang across the tent wall.”

You chew at your bottom lip and make an annoyed face at him, but you comply. The rope was set inside the tent before any of the bedding was, thus solidifying your thought process for tonight’s event schedule. He obviously cared about it being dry a lot, so it’s really important.  _ Oh boy. _

“Come now, you’ve been spacing out. Get it finished, love. Can’t do anything ‘til I’m all dry.” His hand pats you on the back and makes you jump slightly, “Plus I could hear you complaining like crazy about your back. Seems you’ve picked up on your brother’s habit of mumbling aloud.” 

_ ”Aw jeez, of all the fucking things...” _ you think, “I’m getting to it.” 

You pull at the loosest rope and untangle yourself a good ten feet, pulling a little more to give yourself some wiggle room for cutting. You reach into Jake’s rain-dampened shirt pocket and pull out his pocket knife, carved with a skull into the wooden handle, he’s had it for a while. A gift from his grandmother, you assume. You’re careful with it though because it’s Jake’s, and he’d be at least irritated if you lost it. 

It easily slices right through the cotton rope like fire through snow.You pull it away and eye the clean cut.  _ Damn _ this knife is sharp. You’d better be cautious so you don’t cut yourself. You drop the rest of the bundle of rope to the tent floor and fold the knife carefully, tucking it into the pocket on your borrowed shirt. Then you bend down to pick the rope up, and you hear Jake half-heartedly wolf-whistle at you, and you roll your eyes.

_ “Yeah?” _ You twist your mouth downward and raise your eyebrows at him once you stand back up and face him.

“Just enjoying the view. You look mighty good when you’re bent over for me like that, love.” He says, like it’s absolutely nothing.

* * *

 

"Now come along then, chickadee, we haven't got all gosh darn night. I'd like to get what I'm working on set up before that sun goes down."

"And what would that be?" you ask him, only truly half-knowing the answer, but you're smart enough to draw some fucking conclusions. Why else would he take your spoiled ass out here in the middle of nowhere and take meticulous care of the ropes specifically? 

You walk back across the tent and hand him the rope. He takes it and smirks a little, tutting at you. "Oh don't you give me that, you little Prince of mine. You're smart enough to piece it together, but I suppose..." he leans forward to your ear, pressing his lips against the spot where the wing cuff usually is,  _ "I can show you." _

You feel yourself inhale sharply, and his hands grab yours, holding them tightly. You could make this more fun and fight it, but... you like this  _ too much, _ so you'll just let it happen. He pulls your wrists up, and you clasp your palms into a prayer fold on instinct. He pulls you forward and you wince,  _ dammit _ why does your back have to be like this right fucking  _ now? _ He smiles softly at you and then clicks his tongue. 

"Darn, I was hoping to catch you off guard, but I forgot all about that. Come here, love." He lets go of your hands, and you pout a little at the loss of touch.  _ Sure, _ you want that massage, but you also want to be tied up and have your brains fucked out until you can't think straight. It’s  _ fine. _

“Jake…” you grumble, “Come  _ on. _ Can’t this wait?”

“Absolutely not.” He abjures, “Your health is more important than anything else, and I refuse to put that on the bottom rung because you’ve got the itch for a good romp.” You roll your eyes,  _ ugh, _ why does he have to word it like that?

_ “Now _ unbutton your shirt and lie down. Don’t worry, I won’t look. I’m not too keen on making you uncomfortable.” He turns around and you huff, burying your face in your hands. It’s fine, it’s fine. You’ll just… you  _ want _ this and it’s fine. He’ll be touching all over you and, when you put it like that, it cools the fire in your stomach down slightly, at least enough to slake you for now.

You pull yourself together enough to actually do what he says and unbutton the borrowed shirt, tossing it onto the makeshift bed. You fall to your knees and gather up the carefully placed pillows from under the blanket. You bunch them together and lie down on your stomach, adjusting yourself until you’re comfortable. Crossing your arms and resting your head on them, you take a deep breath and relax yourself. This is fine, Jake’s gonna be all over you the second you tell him to, you can wait a little more and ignore the warmth pooling between your legs. It’s fine.

“Alright, come on.” You mumble at him and hide your face in the crease of your elbow as you hear him turn around and sigh dreamily at you.

“Lovely thing…” he whispers under his breath and you feel your face heat up in response. Well… at least he can’t see how fucking red your face is. 

You close your eyes and wait for the familiar feeling of his legs around your hips, straddling you. Once you feel that, your muscles relax and wait for his touch. Every cell in your body is practically screaming for his hands on you, but unfortunately, you know they won’t receive such a thing in the manner they’d like. Which is to say, rough and pressing in hard enough to bruise. 

Instead, what you get is a soft, feather-light touch at the small of your back, calloused thumbs pressing into your skin just so. You sigh in relief,  _ damn _ that feels nice. Your back muscles are tense, and you swear to god you can feel the knots in them. Jake seems to feel your stress and gingerly runs his fingers along your side, and you shiver. 

_ Fucking shit, _ that feels  _ amazing. _

You can’t (and really, you barely make a goddamn effort) stop the gentle groan of pleasure that slips out of you. Not really sexual, per say, but just out of sheer relaxation.  _ Ugh, _ you needed this tonight. It almost makes having waited for it worth it. And really, since you needed it so badly, you can wait a little longer for what he’s got planned next.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks whisper-quiet as though he’s afraid to break the atmosphere of the hushed night. The crickets begin their nightly song, chirping a hymn in their own little language to each other. This is  _ really _ fucking great.

“Mmhmm… s’nice,” you mumble, voice as relaxed as you feel. His hands slide higher now, easy as warm butter across warm toast, probably due to how soft you keep your skin. Because really, what’s the point of having a great body if you don’t take care of your skin as well and insure it’s as soft as it can be? You love it, and Jake likes it too, but that’s mostly a bonus.

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder blades, “Glad to hear it, love.” His hands continue to work you over, rubbing at all the annoyingly sore spots of your muscles. Every so often, you make a noise to indicate that it’s time to move onto the next spot, and he follows your instruction in turn. It’s nice that he’s picked up on your language like this, beneficial even. It’s  _ really _ damn irritating to have to explain yourself over and over again.

“Lotion?” he asks, voice lilting to the quiet ambiance of the night creatures. You hum a sound of confirmation at him and feel his hands pull away from you. You nearly whimper in protest, but you hear the sound of the tub of cocoa butter lotion that you keep open, and you quiet back down. You listen closely as he dips his fingers in and works it between his hands, warming it up so that it’s not icy cool when it touches to you.

Warm, well-lotioned hands rub down your skin, and you nearly moan,  _ fucking shit, _ is it even goddamn  _ legal _ for a fucking massage to feel this good? It really fucking  _ shouldn’t _ be, but damned if you aren’t right here, enjoying every second of it. His hands stroke up and down your back, rubbing in deeply at your freckled shoulders. 

He hums at you and catches your attention, “How’s that, do you need more elsewhere, chickpea?” 

“No that’s...” his hands run up the curve of your spine again and you let out a soothed puff of air, “that’s amazing… I- It’s fine! It’s  _ fine.” _

He laughs softly, a warm thing, melodious to your ears and it makes you perk up and listen in turn. “We  _ can _ keep going,” he interrupts himself to trail two fingers gently up your spine and to your neck, “if you’d like?”

“Mmmhmm, okay… okay.” You accept your fate, not that you’d call it anything but exactly what it is; him giving you what you want. Which is to say, his hands all over you and, most importantly, on your neck.

His thumbs rub at the curve of your neck and you tilt forward slightly to allow him unfiltered access to you. He lingers at the scar that runs the complete circumference around it, running his left thumb across it. You hear him make a worried noise and his throat clears.

“It’s looking much better these days.” He comments absentmindedly and you nod slightly. He knows how upset you are that the events of that day are always worn on your neck, a bit like a collar that you can’t remove. And damn if you haven’t very well tried everything to get rid of it. But unfortunately it’s there to stay, so you’ve adapted a habit of wearing choker necklaces to cover it when you’re in public. Sometimes, if the weather permits, you even wear turtleneck sweaters. But you’re neither in public nor is it cold, so it’s out for all who might happen to run into you to see.

“Yeah, I’ve been taking care of it.” You answer and raise your right arm up to stroke across the messier part of the scar at the back of your neck. Your fingers graze the raised skin there, the irritating remnant of battle is now as much a part of you as the memories of that day are a part of your mind. You had gotten a tattoo there to cover the worst parts of it but once someone touches the back of your neck, it’s painfully obvious what lurks underneath.

It’s a good thing that Jake doesn’t mind it much, otherwise you might have something to be embarrassed about. If anything, he seemed more worried than anything when you showed him the scar for the first time. You remember the feeling of his hands back then, running across the marred skin, still red and freshly raised from the sword. You close your eyes and breathe deeply, filing the thought away to deal with later. 

Jake’s fingers rub up the side of your neck to just behind your ears, holding your head softly in his hands. Your eyes open again, but only slightly, just enough to watch him as he shuffles forward and leans over you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 


End file.
